


Icarus Reflection

by blakesparkles



Series: put me back together (however you want) [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Italy, M/M, Memories, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Safewords, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Torture, Violence, Vulnerability, doubts, i missed these baby boys, maybe more tags as I go, not between them, overcoming, this is a SEQUEL to Narcissus Gaze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-06 04:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakesparkles/pseuds/blakesparkles
Summary: It’s been two years. Two years since his life has changed and one year, eight months and twenty eight days since he ran away with the person who brought him pain, but also love.A sequel of Narcissus Gaze.





	1. Casa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning: this is a sequel of Narcissus Gaze.**  
>  Hey, everyone! I didn't think I would be going back to this AU again, and yet here I am. I felt like there was a small story I wanted to tell about them, I wanted to show you guys what's been going on in Italy. I really hope everyone enjoys this and know that I put my heart into this, as always. Revisiting this world means a lot to me, so I hope you can feel that! Shoutout to [lacemaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemaze/pseuds/lacemaze) for keeping me company during the process and being supportive ;u;  
> 

Jack blinks and the world is blurred.

 

He holds his breath and water dances around him from his light movements, twisting his sight until it comes to a stop. The Irishman’s in a bathtub, underwater, and he stares up at his tall ceiling. Small bubbles leave his lips and his hair flows gently, hovering over his eyes every now and then. His heart is calm, body relaxed. He stays like that for good seconds before slowly emerging, breaking the surface, and he listens the water drip down his face. Jack touches his undercut hair, feeling how long it is on top, and he pushes brown strands back. He sighs and he leans his back against his bathtub. The boy’s sapphire eyes are glassy, not quite focusing on anything, and his chest rises up and down. He pulls a leg up, stretching, and his damp eyelashes bat against porcelain skin. The house is quiet, only drops of water falling from the tap. There’s soft afternoon light bathing the room and Jack can see part of Florence from a window. Jack plays with a black ring around his finger, knitting his eyebrows at it, and he lets his thoughts wander.

 

It’s been two years.

 

Two years since his life has changed and one year, eight months and twenty eight days since he ran away with the person who brought him pain, but also love. Jack always feels different in that time of the year. There’s something in that November air, in every chill breeze, that makes him so pensative. Wistful, perhaps. He’s never sure. The Irishman doesn’t like it and being alone never helps. A low buzz coming from his right stops his train of thought and he turns his face, seeing his cell phone on a side table. He recognizes a code number _12512_ , knowing who it belongs to, and he purses his lips. The Irishman rests his arms on the bathtub edge, water streaming down his skin, and he accepts the call with a light frown. He puts it on speaker and licks his lips before opening his mouth.

 

“I thought I was supposed to keep my mouth shut,” he murmurs and there’s shuffling from the other end before he hears a sigh.

 

 _“That’s not what I said,”_ Anti answers. _“Don’t be like that.”_

 

The Irishman rolls his eyes and stays quiet. The hitman has been away for three weeks. Three fucking weeks and it’s been _so_ goddamn quiet. Jack hates these long missions the most and everything is so dull around him. Pointless. He’s been wanting to help Anti in his work for a while now, learning how to fight and hack, but the man never lets the boy go with him. It’s frustrating, even more when the hitman says he won’t be able to keep in touch for a long period of time. The brown-haired man tried to call him last week several times but Anti only answered to tell him to stop. Jack madly loves him, but sometimes that man gets under his skin. He’s been doing everything that he can to distract himself, taking long baths and walking around the city. It can only go too far without Anti, though. Jack rests his cheek against his arm, staring at the cell phone, and he asks why the man called. There’s a pause.

 

_“I miss your voice.”_

 

A hum leaves the boy’s lips, a small smile kissing his face. “I miss you too… When are you coming back?”

 

 _“I don’t know. Could be today, could be next week.”_ There are more background sounds and someone talks to Anti for a brief second, voices muffled. He recognizes one of Anti’s colleagues, Marcello, and Jack tells the man to say hello for him. The hitman sighs but shouts to his friend before focusing on the call again. _“What are you doing right now?”_

 

“Taking a bath… Although, I’d rather have you bending me over,” the boy tells him, playing with the water for a bit, and there’s a low grunt coming from the man. Another pause and that silence threatens to crush Jack for a split second, making him shut his eyes and take a deep breath. “Just… Come home. It’s lonely here without you.”

 

Anti says that he will and they end the call shortly after that. Jack clenches his jaw and his heart’s heavy, not at ease anymore. The water runs cold and the boy gets up with tired eyes, shivering when more water streams down his skin. He picks up a towel to dry himself with deliberate movements, mind far away, and he stares at his reflection in the mirror. Jack tugs on his beard, thinking he needs to trim it, and there are faint dark circles under his eyes from waiting for the man. The Irishman turns his face to the left, touching a spot behind his right ear. There’s a simple tattoo under the tip of his fingers. The letter _A_ paints his white skin, just the size of a fingernail. The hitman did this to him a few months back, wanting to mark the boy. Jack did one on Anti with his own initial as well and he never gets tired of looking at it. He glances at the small gauges there as well, getting used to having them but liking the style. The brown-haired man lets his hand fall down to his stomach, feeling a scar there, and he presses his lips together before finally trimming his beard.

 

He walks through their house, passing by baroque architecture and classical paintings on their ceiling. He doesn’t care about the open windows that reveal their city nor if someone might see him naked from afar. The Irishman’s footsteps are the loudest sound in the place and he opens a drawer, listening to a gentle noise at his movement. His eyes fall down to a necklace in a corner, a crooked bullet with a black string. Left behind in a drawer. It makes his heart clench, lungs filling with air, and he stares at it for a while. He holds back the urge to touch that scar again, remembering a faint pain and despair. Jack shakes his head and just grabs some boxer briefs instead, walking away while getting dressed. He doesn’t know why he kept that thing and not actually threw it away. As much as he loves that Anti crafted it for him, Jack wishes to forget about the past. It’s so fucking hard sometimes, though.

 

The sun is setting and the Irishman gets himself some left-over from the fridge, waiting at the counter while it heats up in the microwave. His feet hang from the tall stool in the open kitchen and he browsers through his laptop, checking that some of his paintings were sold and he’ll need to ship them soon. He eats quietly and there’s a sense of pride in his chest, knowing that Anti will like that he did that. Jack does eat even when the man is away, but not as much as he should. The boy would be lying he said that he’s not depressed without the hitman. They both know it’s not healthy and they’re still working on getting better. Still, he eats. The hours drag but he’s used to it. He finds himself glancing at his cell phone more often in this day but Anti doesn’t call him anymore. Where did he say he was again? Hungary? Right. It’s a two hours flight and he prays that the man can get home as soon as he can. Jack just wants him to put a bullet on their target’s head and get that over with.

 

When night falls and he’s still alone, lying on the right side of a king size bed, his thoughts are poisonous. What if he doesn’t come back? Not because the man doesn’t want to, but because something wrong happened? What if he gets badly hurt? What if they catch him? God, Jack’s heart aches so much whenever the man comes back with a single bruise, let alone cuts and broken bones. With time, the Irishman learned how to take care of minor injuries and stitch with a steady hand, but it’s never pleasant. He shuffles underneath the covers, puffing his cheeks, and he glares at that empty spot that belongs to Anti. He puts a hand over the man’s pillow, missing his scent and touch, and he shuts his eyes. He wishes to calm down his mind, hating that doubts overwhelm him from time to time. It’s scary being alone. He’s terrified of staying like that forever. Jack grimaces but he falls asleep nonetheless, embracing that darkness and relaxing his body.

 

There’s snow in his dream but everything else is blurred, image not quite making it out. It’s more emotions than anything, eyes moving fast underneath his eyelids and fingers twitching. Jack’s breathing is slightly faster and he frowns in his sleep, wanting to groan. It’s cold. There’s a sense of dread, crawling under his skin, and he wakes up with a gasp in the middle of the night. The Irishman feels something nudging his arm and he looks up with groggy eyes, heart racing, only to see his lover. Anti’s staring down at him, green hair curling all over his forehead, and he’s wearing a black hoodie. Jack lets out a broken whimper, immediately sitting up and throwing his arms over Anti’s shoulders. The hitman huffs but sits in bed as well, caressing the boy’s back. The Irishman tears up, a sob leaving his lips, and god... How good it is to have him close. His scent. Citric, grounding. His soft locks. Anti buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, nuzzling his nose there, and the brown-haired man cries.

 

They move just enough to look at each other and the Irishman cups the man’s face, touching his scars there and staring at beautiful green eyes. They lean in for a kiss, lips and beards brushing, and they both sigh into their mouths. There are sparks running through his body, a tingling sensation down into his stomach that makes him tremble. They tilt their heads and Anti tightens his hold, wet kisses making a sound in the dark room. The man’s split tongue slides into the boy’s mouth and they moan under their breaths. Jack shudders, feeling the freckled man’s hands touching his exposed back, and they just lazily drag their lips together. Fuck. Anti groans and pulls the Irishman to sit on his lap, both hugging so close. They peck their mouths, over and over, tasting one another.

 

“Oh, god, you came back…” Jack breathes, digging his fingers into the man’s curled hair. “You came back to me.”

 

“I always do,” Anti whispers and, goddamnit, he missed that rough voice. “After that call, we found the guy we wanted. I tried to come as fast as I could… I had to wake you up.”

 

“Fuck, I’m so glad you did. I’m so happy you’re here, Anti... Please, hold me.”

 

Their embrace is warm and Jack melts in his arms, taking a deep breath. His heart swells and everything feels right again. He tugs on the man’s shirt, just wanting to be skin-to-skin, and Anti takes it off with a huff. They rest their cheeks against each other’s shoulders, closing their eyes, and their fingers trace light patterns on their backs. Jack feels that long scar of his that goes down to his hip, a marred one on his bicep, and he wishes for time to stop. Anti bumps his nose on the boy’s neck and he mumbles how tired he is. The Irishman kisses his shoulder and whispers that they can sleep together now. The hitman hesitantly pulls away, removing his boots and unzipping his pants. Jack keeps pecking the man between his shoulder blades while he does that, brushing his lips there, and Anti takes his hand to plant a kiss there too. They fall in bed and the freckled man lies down on top of him, his weight welcome above the boy. Jack lets out a chuckle, legs tangling, and the man grunts in the crook of his neck. They fit perfectly and it’s easy to forget about those nightmares, having him there. It’s easy to fall asleep.

 

When morning comes, they’re spread in bed and there are tousled sheets. Anti’s lying on his stomach and the boy, on his side. Jack blinks lazily, cleaning his eyes, and he stares at his lover. He lightly touches a tattoo behind Anti’s left ear, the initial _J_ kissing his skin, and the man’s chest rises, stirring himself awake. The freckled man hums, burying his face into the pillow, and Jack smiles at him. Anti opens his emerald, glassy eyes and he grumbles with a frown. The Irishman leans in to peck his cheek, whispering a good morning, and there’s another grunt. The freckled man raises his arms, asking for a hug without words, and Jack goes to him without a second thought. They sigh, breathing in their scents, and the Irishman pecks him one more time before getting up. He goes to the bathroom, wanting to pee, and Anti walks in when he’s brushing his teeth. The hitman pushes his boxer briefs down, emptying his bladder with narrowed eyes, and Jack snorts at his sleepy state. They wash their faces and the house is alive. The boy puts toothpaste on the hitman’s toothbrush and Anti thanks him.

 

Jack hops back in bed and the hitman walks into the living room, looking for something. The Irishman sees him bringing his duffel bag, probably too tired last night to put his stuff away, and Anti sits next to him.

 

“I brought you something,” he mumbles and Jack’s face lights up, turning on his stomach to smile at him.

 

“Did you, now? Why do I feel like that’s your way of apologizing?” he chuckles.

 

Anti takes a small box from his bag and opens it for the boy, revealing a gorgeous knife. It’s a steel tiger karambit, with a sharp end that looks like a claw, and Jack gasps when looking at it. He takes it in his hands and it’s light, with a good grip. Fuck. The Irishman thinks it’s beautiful and he thanks the man, grinning like an idiot. Anti pushes some of Jack’s long strands of hair back, humming, and the boy leans into the touch. He spins the knife easily, switching hands in a smooth movement, and the hitman seems satisfied. They kiss and it’s the green-haired man that makes them breakfast. How wonderful it is to see him behind the kitchen counter. Jack’s doubts are pushed away, completely focused on his lover, and there’s a delicious plate in front of him with _frittata._ They eat and sips from their drinks, hot coffee and tea, and Jack tries asking about the man’s last mission. Anti murmurs it was alright, but it took longer because they needed the target to be at the right place and time. The brown-haired man nods and he hopes that the man stays for a good while now.

 

Lately Anti has been getting missions after missions, barely staying a full week with Jack. Of course that the Irishman is happy that the freckled man is so admired in this new team. They really rely on him for most things, trusting his opinion. He met them all himself and he’s very fond of Marcello and Antonio. They are good people. Well, as good as a hitman can be. They accept Jack, also liking how the boy knows how to handle himself. They see talent in him but Anti always deny their comments. Jack wants Anti all to himself, however, and _enjoy_ their lives instead of just waiting. Doing nothing. It really doesn’t feel like it’s been two years sometimes.

 

“I wanna go on a date,” the Irishman speaks, chewing on his italian omelets. “Let’s go visit Rome! Sicilia! Let’s just explore again! It’s been so long since we went out.”

 

“You know that I can’t be away for too long if they need me.”

 

“Anti… C’mon, we’ve talked about this. You _just_ got back. Relax, for once. I wanna have fun! With you!”

 

“Mm.”

 

The hitman pinches the end of his nose, sighing, and the boy’s smile falters for a second. It’s not the first time Jack tried doing something and having him say no. He really doesn’t want to have another discussion. There’s a hint of worry and disappointment threatening to settle down in his heart, not liking this side of Anti. It makes Jack wonder if he’s getting bored of him and it’s a fear that never quite left. The green-haired man is just constantly visiting places and the boy has a silly worry that, one day, he might meet someone new. A stupid thought, after everything that they’ve been through. But there, nonetheless. Anti nods before this unwelcome fear consumes him and Jack smiles more, eyes turning into half-moons. They finish breakfast and he tells himself that he’s always so patient with the man. It’s only fair that they can relax and forget about work. Right.

 

The Irishman wears Anti’s hoodie, liking how much big it is on him, and he takes that knife again at some point. He asks Anti to do one of their games and he sits on freckled man’s lap, back against his chest. The green-haired man places Jack’s hand on the counter and he counts up to three before he stabs between the boy’s finger. The brown-haired man watches with a calm heart and Anti moves fast, hitting every spot perfectly and not hurting him. Even when Jack moves his hand on purpose, the hitman’s reflexes kick in and the boy giggles. Anti lets him try and he may not be as fast as the man, but he’s good. The Irishman marks their counter over and over, adjusting when Anti tricks him a couple of times, and the freckled man caresses his waist. He whispers that Jack’s even better and he congratulates the boy, pecking his neck. The boy hums, leaning back so the man can get more of him, and Anti’s hands slide under his hoodie. Jack arches his back, a weak moan leaving his lips.

 

“I missed these sounds,” the man whispers into his ear. “Did you think of me while I was gone?”

 

“I think of you all the time,” the boy breathes and Anti’s hold is possessive.

 

“May I have my time with you?”

 

The Irishman freezes for a second, blinking and trying to focus. He knows what Anti is asking and he used that tone of voice that sends shivers down his spine. Jack thinks, wanting to feel him already but also liking some teasing. Anti waits, caressing his skin under the outfit and kissing the boy’s neck. The Irishman’s eyes flutter and he nods, whispering a _Yes._ The hitman bites his earlobe with a hum, urging the boy to get up and go to the bedroom. Jack listens to his orders, removing the man’s black hoodie and boxer briefs on the way, and he walks into their room to sit on the middle of their bed. Anti has seen him naked so many times, the boy has lost count, but it still does things to him when the hitman shows up with quiet steps. Jack’s heart skips a beat and he stays still, locking their gaze.

 

The freckled man stops in front of him, making a motion with his fingers, and the Irishman crawls his way towards him. Anti cups his cheeks and he leans into the touch, staring through half-lidded eyes. The green-haired man brushes a thumb against Jack’s bottom lip and the boy opens his mouth, tongue lolling out. Jack wants the man to wish for him. He wants to see lust in Anti’s eyes and forget those thoughts. He wants to be adored. The green-haired man slides his thumb into Jack’s mouth and the boy hums, closing his eyes and sucking on it. He likes that Anti is still dressed, in his briefs. He likes that the man is not speaking and yet there’s this dominance in the air. Above everything, though, Jack loves that there’s warmth in his eyes. Affection. It puts him at ease. The Irishman moans when there’s two fingers in his mouth and he keeps thinking that he wants to be good. Anti caresses his hair, pulling out his fingers, and there’s a wet sound in the air. Jack swallows and his cock twitches, liking that the man keeps touching his cheek.

 

Anti steps back for a moment, going to his closet, and the Irishman watches him look for something. The hitman places leather cuffs in bed and a spreader bar, and Jack lies down on his back with a sigh. He pulls his legs up, feet planted in the mattress, and Anti’s moves are gentle. He takes the boy’s wrists and wraps the leather cuff around it before attaching them to his thighs, so he won’t be able to move his arms. The green-haired man runs his fingers down to Jack’s legs, carefully placing the spreader bar there and wrapping more cuffs around his ankles. The Irishman’s heart races in anticipation and he gasps when the man tugs on the bar, sheets shuffling underneath him. Anti leans down to look at him and he asks if Jack’s alright. The boy nods with a smile and the freckled man kisses him deep, split tongue sliding into his mouth. They hum in pleasure and their kiss makes a sound when pulling back. The Irishman wants more of him but he’ll have to wait. Anti shows him a ball gag and that doesn’t surprise Jack at first, knowing that they’ve used all of this before, but what catches his attention is a blindfold. As simple as it is, that’s something new.

 

“Remember,” the green-haired man whispers, tying up the black gag around the boy’s head, and Jack taste rubber in his mouth. “Tap your thigh once to slow down. Twice to stop. Same as always.”

 

The Irishman nods, flushing from head to toes, and they exchange a look. Anti kisses his forehead before covering his eyes and Jack swallows. Darkness takes over and he blinks against the fabric too fast, getting used to it. He hears the man asking again if everything is okay and Jack nods with a muffled grunt. The mattress shift, that familiar weight leaving his side, and all that the boy can do is try to listen. He takes deep breaths, frowning to himself, and there’s more shuffling in the background. Jack jolts when there’s a touch between his legs and he hears Anti chuckle, making the boy glare and groan. The freckled man’s finger brushes against Jack’s asshole, exposed like this, and he relaxes. Anti slowly stretches him open then, and his fingers slide easily with lubricant. The Irishman sighs, loving to feel his man, and he’s calmer. The green-haired man buries his knuckles deep inside, scissoring him, and Jack’s moan is muffled. His tongue brushes against the rubber ball and his cock hardens.

 

When Anti pulls his fingers out, the Irishman whines and lifts his hips in the air. The spreader bar makes a clink in the air with his movements and he gasps, feeling a hand on his inner thigh. Fuck. Everything is making him on edge, not being able to see. He never knows when Anti will touch him. The hitman seems to be enjoying that, though, humming and pinching his skin to make Jack squirm. There’s a pressure against his asshole once more and he groans, feeling it sliding inside. Anti plays with it, twisting, and Jack chokes when it rubs perfectly where he wants. There’s a content sound coming from the hitman and the Irishman listens to his footsteps fading back. Jack knits his eyebrows, not knowing where he is, and his heart beats fast against his ribcage. He groans as if to ask what’s going on but he jerks at a strong sensation. Oh, god. It’s a vibrator. It’s a fucking vibrator up in his ass and Anti’s controlling it. Jack’s cock twitches, erected above his stomach, and he tries moving his hands but the cuffs tug around his thighs.

 

Jack moans, lightly biting the ball gag, and he closes his hands into fists. His toes curl, spreader bar making it impossible to move, and he can only shuffle in bed. Jesus fucking christ, that feels wonderful. Jack arches his back, humping the air, and he groans as loud as he can. He wants to call for Anti. He wants his lover. The Irishman’s glassy eyes see just darkness and he squirms at these sweet waves taking over his body. The frequency changes to barely nothing and Jack whimpers, relaxing. He breathes fast through his nose and he moves his head, as if seeking for the hitman. Is he watching? Is he recording the boy on his cell phone again? Is he touching himself while seeing the boy tense like that? Is he even there? The thought of being left alone like that does something to Jack and it’s not good. He doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want that. The vibrator’s setttings go up and a muffled mewl rips out of his throat, arching his whole body again. His cock leaks precum onto his stomach, brushing against his skin, and he sobs. Jack tugs more with the cuffs and he feels heavy. As if there’s a fog wrapping around him like a blanket. His heart is going a mile a minute and his chest is red, flushed.

 

“You’re not suppose to cum,” Anti’s voice coming from the end of the room is a relief and yet a torture. “You’ll wait for me. I’m the only one who can do that to you.”

 

The Irishman nods furiously, nostrils flaring, and this keeps going. Over and over. Anti plays with the toy every now and then, not letting the boy get used to it. Jack doesn’t know how long they stay like that but it reaches a point he can’t even think right. Everything is a mess. He’s moaning, biting harder on the gag and digging his nails into his skin. Anti will murmur in time to time, either making sure that Jack’s fine or spilling dirty words at him. The brown-haired man shakes, heat below his stomach burning too much, and his balls are tense. His cock’s throbbing, head swollen, and Jack swallows so he won’t choke. Throughout all of this, there’s a bitter feeling that the boy can’t quite get rid of. It’s a mix of pleasure and anxiety, slowly taking over. But he needs to be good. He needs to be good for Anti. They can’t stop. Not now. This is good. He can do this, he can do this.

 

Anti turns off the vibrator abruptly and Jack sobs, feeling a rush of cold when being turned around to face the bed. That movement brings back old memories and his stomach twists. The Irishman gasps when Anti pulls out the toy and his chest rises up and down against the bed sheets. Asshole up in the air. The mattress shifts and there’s warmth behind him, hands caressing his ass cheeks that go up to his back. Jack’s heart aches and he buries his face into the sheets when the hitman shoves his cock inside him. The Irishman chokes and he’s full, Anti’s cock stretching him up. The green-haired man grunts and thrusts deep into him, ramming the boy. Jack’s drool trickles down his chin, tasting more rubber, and he pants hard at every thrust. The hitman has to hold him by the waist so he won’t move forward and the bed creaks loudly in the room. Anti pounds into him, cock warm, and they both moan. The brown-haired man squints his eyes, trying to fight back that feeling. Jack can do this. He sees snow and a lifeless body. Silver hair and bruises from warm nights. Ropes and cuts. An old panic rises up to his throat and Jack finds himself slipping into a bad headspace.

 

He cums with a weak mewl, shuddering violently and jizzing hard. It trickles down to his cock and sheets, and he spasms when feeling waves of pleasure. Anti continues to fuck him through his orgasm and tears stream down Jack’s eyes, damping the blindfold. He can’t see. He can just _feel_ someone using him and there’s warmth inside him. The person cums but continues to thrust and thrust, and Jack finally breaks. Something clicks in him and he taps his thigh so hard several times. The Irishman doesn’t stop hitting his skin, a bubbly cry suffocating his chest, and it’s hard to breathe. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There’s cum streaming down his thighs and he’s moved around to be on his back. Jack’s face scrunches up, trembling, and then there’s light again. He winces at the brightness but blinks tears away, vision blurry. There’s a voice in the air and hands around his head, removing the ball gag. Jack lets out a loud sob and he sees Anti. His hitman. Right.

 

“Jack! Jack, talk to me!” the man says, moving rapidly, and he takes off the cuffs around the boy’s wrist and thighs. Anti’s cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. He’s naked, doing a quick work to get rid of the spreader bar, and he comes back to look at Jack. “Wh-”

 

The Irishman flinches when Anti tries touching his face and the man stops, hand in the air. The hitman’s expression changes to hurtful, concern and then anger. His hand falls down and he purses his lips with a glare, giving the boy space. Both of them in bed. Jack’s tears are silent and he curls into a ball, arms above his head. It’s so quiet now and the Irishman’s jaw aches, along with his chest from breathing too hard. No one moves for quite a few minutes and Jack blinks with heavy eyelids, mind foggy. They both come down from their high fast and the Irishman has a hard time to focus on reality. He pushes his arms down, wrists resting against each other as if tied up, and he’s cold. Jack looks up at Anti and the man’s resting a cheek on a hand, legs crossed. He perks up when noticing the boy staring and they lock their gaze. The brown-haired man licks his lips before speaking, still out of it.

 

“I…” His voice is hoarse, low. “Am I y-your captive?”

 

Anti scowls. “The fuck are you talking about?”

 

“I shouldn’t be here…”

 

It’s barely a murmur but the man hears the boy’s words nonetheless, frowning even more. There’s a scream in the back of Jack’s throat but he swallows it, mind hazy. Anti clenches his hands a couple of times and he draws in air, as if holding back frustration. There’s a pause and Jack’s mouth is ajar, staring at nothing. His thoughts are just static, grasping only weak words here and there, and he wants to melt away.

 

“I should’ve paid more attention,” the hitman mutters. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. This never happened, you know that. You didn’t… I told you to remember.”

 

“But I remember.”

 

“Stop.”

 

“I remember what you did to me...”

 

The freckled man runs his hands through his hair, puffing his cheeks, and it looks like he’s going to shout but stops. Anti breathes through his mouth, closing his eyes for a moment, and his shoulders relax. His expression softens and he whispers if he can touch Jack. The Irishman says nothing so Anti takes that as an answer, brushing his thumb on the boy’s cheek. It’s so tender, familiar. Jack hums and lets Anti move him like a ragdoll until he’s on the man’s lap. The freckled man caresses his hair and the boy rests his face against his chest, body limp. Anti’s warm and he touches Jack’s thighs, running his hand up and down on porcelain skin. It grounds him and he wraps his arms around the man’s waist, breathing into his scent. The hitman whispers sweet nothings and he adjusts the boy before getting up. Anti carries him bridal-style, taking them to the bathroom, and he turns on the tap to fill the bathtub with warm water. Jack doesn’t want to let go so the man keeps holding him while preparing the bath, whispering everything that he’s going to do.

 

Once there’s enough water, Anti places him inside and he sits behind the boy’s back. The hitman takes a sponge and he’s slow when cleaning Jack, just touching his arms and chest. There’s that citric scent in the air and the Irishman blinks, vision focusing. Anti hugs him and Jack’s damp hair falls down to his cheeks once more, disheveled. The man keeps whispering he didn’t mean to push too far. That he didn't know. Jack swallows, resting against his chest, but he can’t bring himself to speak anymore. Not yet. He lets Anti clean down his ass, bending forward with a sigh, and he likes when the man washes his hair. Nothing is rushed and they stay in the bathtub until the water runs cold. Anti dries him and there’s a different haziness in the air. It’s comfortable. Safe. The freckled man wraps Jack in a towel and he still carries the boy bridal-style when leaving the bathroom. They don’t say a word and Anti dresses him in a clean, black t-shirt and boxer briefs. Jack raises one leg at the time to help and the hitman also picks something for himself.

 

The Irishman lies in bed, sniffing, and he watches Anti put everything back in the closet. The man pauses, touching something, and he glances at the boy. Jack lazily raises his head to look and his eyes widen a bit, nodding at what his lover is showing him. Anti huffs with a small smile and he comes back with that black coat in hands. He doesn’t wear that in months. Jack sits up so the man can put it on him and Anti lies down as well. They sigh and the Irishman’s half on top of him, nuzzling the man’s neck. The freckled man hugs him and their eyes meet, emerald and sapphire. Anti purses his lips and he bumps his nose on Jack’s cheek, tightening his hold.

 

“You scared the shit out of me.”

 

“Sorry,” the Irishman drawls. “I don’t know… I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

 

“Don’t apologize. It’s my fault.”

 

Jack’s eyes scan the man’s face and he clenches his jaw. He’s not sure if he should deny that. Maybe it was both their fault or no one’s. The brown-haired man tells himself that it’s that time of the year again. Almost December. These months come with the past, uninvited and overwhelming. It’s been a while since he last thought of Anti as a kidnapper and it’s hurtful. Odd. They’ve come so far and yet there’s always something that keeps happening, as if the world wants to remind them of what they really are. What they did. Jack blinks, seeing that lifeless body behind his eyelids, and he whispers that blindfolds are not his thing. Anti snorts, caressing his cheek, and promises to never try that again. There are too many things that happened in the darkness for Jack. He doesn’t need more of it. That aside, he does say it was a sweet torture and that he enjoyed almost all of it. It was just the end that it sucked. Anti brushes his lips against the boy’s forehead and he also promises to make some delicious pasta as an apology.

 

Jack chuckles and he ignores a weakness in the pit of his stomach.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the knife Anti gives to Jack.](https://www.knifecenter.com/item/CS49KST/cold-steel-49kst-steel-tiger-karambit-fixed-aus-8-blade-griv-ex-and-kray-ex-handles-secure-ex-sheath)  
> I'll be posting on my tumblr my drawing of them currently in a day or so, I'll leave a link on the next chapter! :)  
> A song/spoken word that inspired me during this process: [Find Me by Forest Blakk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T9sfAVOEVAQ&)  
> [My tumblr](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/)  
> [If you like what I do, feel free to show some support!](https://ko-fi.com/sparklepines)  
> 


	2. Schianto

They stay in bed throughout the rest of the day and Anti takes care of him until night falls. Jack removes that coat at some point, putting it away, and the man makes sure that they both eat. The Irishman still finds himself with a tired mind, so he dozes off with his lover. It’s warm under the covers and he buries his face into a pillow, melting in bed. When the dreams come, they are waves of emotions that make Jack frown in his sleep. Echoes haunting him. His heart loses pace and he has to force himself to wake up, opening his eyes in the dim room. The Irishman blinks heavy and he takes a deep breath before turning his face to the left. He sees Anti, fast asleep, a hand over his stomach. Mouth ajar. Good, the hitman needs to rest. Jack knows he’s been worried all day after what happened. He looks to the right, staring at a digital clock on their nightstand, and it’s past three in the morning. He rubs his eyes and slowly sits up, pushing the covers away and dragging his hand over his face with a low grunt. Jack looks out a window, grateful for the moonlight casting into their room, and he sighs in the quiet.

 

It’s hard to push some thoughts away in the middle of the night. He replays what happened during the day and he purses his lips. Jack thinks of the hitman and how they were in the beginning of it all. How terrified he felt, fearing for his life. The Irishman lives with that man now. He remembers when he asked if Anti was his boyfriend but the freckled man only mumbled back that they were more than that. No word ever really fit for them. It’s something different and Jack never thought he would have something like that in his entire life, especially after so much pain. He remembers fights that they had. It’s not perfect, not at all. But they do their best and Anti has been so tender with him. He’s always trying. It’s like he wants to prove to the boy that they work. That Jack deserves to be with him. It’s funny. To have an assassin care that much for him. There are moments the brown-haired man wishes Anti could listen to him more, though. To trust him fully and let him be part of the man’s world.

 

Jack hears shuffling and then there’s a sigh, a hand brushing against his arm. The Irishman blinks lazily at the moon, pulling a leg up and hugging himself. He hears Anti hum and clear his throat, asking what he’s doing. The hitman’s voice is hoarse, dragged and much deeper from sleep. Jack likes it. He doesn’t answer right away and draws in air, letting so many thoughts wander through his mind. He’s never really been the same after meeting Anti, has he? The freckled man turned his life upside down, that he can’t deny. He wonders what he would be doing, right now, if he haven’t crossed paths with that man. Would he long for something like this? Would he be successful in life with a job that he loves? Or would he still be in that empty apartment, waiting for all of this to happen?

 

“I wonder what you feel when you kill someone,” Jack whispers in the dark, letting words roll out of his tongue. “Does your heart falter? Does your heart beat faster? Do you look at them in the eye?”

 

“What are you-” the man murmurs. “Go back to sleep, baby…”

 

The Irishman turns to face him, moving in bed to look down at him. A hand on Anti’s chest. The green-haired man stares through narrowed eyes, frowning at the boy. Jack caresses his hair and his heart clenches.

 

“Are you going to grow old with me?” Jack’s voice comes out strained and his lips quiver every so slightly with a wistful smile. “Do you think that’s going to happen with us? Will you still want me? And what if I die first? Or you? What if you leave me alone like that?”

 

Anti cups the boy’s cheeks and rubs his thumbs there. They exchange a look and the hitman’s face scrunches up in agony. Jack mirrors his expression, wrapping his fingers around the man’s wrists. He waits for an answer and Anti opens his mouth a couple of times, only to close it. The Irishman purses his lips and moves to lie down next to him instead, pulling the covers and resting a cheek against his pillow. His back is turned to the man and he feels knuckles brushing against his skin there, a light kiss between his shoulder blades before an arm wraps around his waist. Jack closes his eyes, chest rising up and down, and Anti spoons him from behind. The boy puts a hand over the man’s and they entwine their fingers in their sleep.

 

They pretend nothing happened and Anti takes him out for breakfast in the next day.

 

They leave their house wearing long coats, protecting themselves from this cold weather, and they hold hands when walking outside. They’ve long stopped caring about how they look in public. They do like keeping their intimacy private but they won’t turn down soft touches and knowing smiles. Jack leans closer, looking down at their feet, and his caramel coat is a nice contrast with Anti’s black clothes. The hitman’s wearing a turtleneck shirt and the boy whispers that he looks handsome. Anti hums, tightening their hold, and they walk quietly to one of Jack’s favorite coffee shops. The Irishman looks behind for a second, narrowing his eyes, but there’s nothing. The freckled man asks if they can sit outside and Jack nods, holding back the urge to look back again. He brushes it off and they sit at a corner in the shop, ordering their drinks and pastries. The boy runs a hand through his hair, feeling his undercut there and tugging on his small gauges. Anti takes out a cigarette and lights it with a match, crossing his legs and leaning back at the chair.

 

The smell of tobacco hits Jack and he sighs, making a motion with his fingers. Anti passes him the cigarette and the boy drags from it, warming up. Anti takes it back, staring at him with those piercing green eyes, and smoke leaves their noses. Jack fidgets with his black ring and the hitman looks down at it, messing with his as well. The freckled man opens his mouth to say something, taking a deep breath, but they’re interrupted when their drinks arrive. Jack thanks the waiter and sips from his hot coffee, hating that there’s a bit of tension mixed with tobacco in the air. Anti hums to himself, blowing more smoke before drinking from his cup.

 

“I hate it when you get like that,” he murmurs and Jack purses his lips.

 

“I can’t help it.”

 

“You said you wanted to go out,” Anti continues. “We’re making plans to go to Rome for a week. I want to find a place for us there and I want you to do anything you want. I brought you here because I think we need fresh air. I’m doing everything I can but I don’t understand why you…” He trails off, waving a hand in the air and then resting his elbows on the round table with a sigh. “You’re far away.”

 

There’s a pause and Jack thinks of what he’s going to say. He doesn’t want to argue and talk about what’s on his mind. Not right now. Not in public. Anti won’t like it. He smiles then and puts his hand over the hitman’s on the table, thanking him for being so patient. Jack blames this time of the year once more and he promises that he’s working on it. That it will pass. The Irishman also questions the cigarette since the man said he was going to quit a while ago. Anti grumbles but puts out the damn thing, complaining about his own decision. Jack snorts and they caresses their fingers to calm down their hearts. The freckled man kisses the back of his hand, his beard brushing against the boy’s skin. The Irishman stares at him and points out that the man’s dark roots are showing, that he needs to dye it again. Anti tugs on his own curls and Jack offers to do that later with a smile. They continue to eat and sip from their drinks, and the brown-haired man doesn’t look back anymore.

 

When they come back home, they hang their coats on a rack by the door and Anti strips off his shirt so the boy can take care of his hair. It’s something Jack’s used with and he likes messing with the man’s curls, digging his fingers there. Anti sits on a chair in their bathroom and the Irishman grabs some products to bleach his lover’s hair. They stay quiet for the most part, just enjoying this moment. Anti brushes his fingers up and down against Jack’s thighs and making the boy giggle a couple of times, feeling ticklish. The Irishman uses some hair clips to hold the man’s locks in the right places and he playfully say that Anti looks sexy. The freckled man huffs and his hair is starting to lose color. Jack adjusts the plastic gloves in his hands and the hitman asks if he looks good like that. If he should stay blond or try a different color. Maybe silver. Copper. The Irishman makes a face, saying that for now he likes just the green alright, and Anti sticks his split tongue out like a kid.

 

Jack rinses Anti’s hair once is fully bleached on top and he waits for the man to blow dry it. There’s a buzzing sound in the air and the Irishman looks at Anti’s cell phone at a counter. There’s a thin line of anxiety dropping down into his stomach, thinking that they’re already calling the man for another mission and that’s it. Anti will have to leave again. He purses his lips, both staring at the cell phone, and the freckled man tugs on the hem of his shirt while telling him to ignore it. Jack sighs but dyes the man’s hair, brushing away a light touch from Anti. The hitman clicks his tongue, but says nothing. When they wait enough time, he leans his head into the bathtub once more and they watch the water turn light green. They make a bit of a mess and there’s a smudge of color on Jack’s left cheek by the time they’re done. Anti wipes it off, stealing a kiss and thanking the boy between their lips.

 

The green-haired man is clingy throughout the day, hugging Jack from behind still shirtless and tugging on his outfit. He jumpscares the Irishman twice, tickling his sides, and the boy shouts mid-laughter when trying to cook them some lunch. The man never touches his cell phone, forgotten somewhere, and he doesn’t leave the boy’s side. They run around the house barefoot, passing through their living room columns and fireplace, and Anti catches him with a chuckle. Jack finds himself smiling, eyes turning into half-moons, and they brush their noses together. The freckled man hums, lifting him off the floor easily, and the boy wraps his arms around his lover’s shoulders.

 

“There you are…” Anti murmurs, a hint of a smile on his face. “I like you like this.”

 

Jack blinks at familiar words, seeing a rooftop, and his smile falters for a split second. He huffs before leaning into a kiss, not wanting Anti to notice, and they breathe into their mouths. They tilt their heads, sighing, and their tongues brush. Jack cups the man’s face and their kisses make loud sounds in the room. Anti bites his bottom lip, pulling it until Jack groans, and he locks his legs around the man’s waist. The hitman grunts, walking until the Irishman’s back rests against a column, and they makeout in the living room. It’s crazy that Jack still feels so nervous, so overwhelmed with every touch. The green-haired man knows all his sweet spots, every place that makes him shiver, and it’s _so_ good. Jack moans and Anti goes down to his neck, licking and biting porcelain skin. They’re chest-to-chest and the Irishman runs a hand through the man’s locks, listening to him practically purr.

 

They lightly move their hips and Jack caresses Anti’s happy trail before unzipping his pants. He slides his hand to feel the man and there’s a pant into his ear. They kiss and rut against each other, wet lips brushing, and Anti’s cock harden in the Irishman’s hand. Jack mumbles for the hitman to fuck him and there’s a low growl that makes him shudder, hazy blue eyes seeking for emerald. Anti adjusts him in his arms and walks them out of the living room, pecking Jack’s lips. When they step into their room, the freckled man is gentle when placing the Irishman on the side of the bed and the boy pulls him for a harsh kiss. They remove their clothes, tossing them on the floor, and Anti grabs a bottle of lube from their nightstand. Jack lies on his back and he throws his head back when the man goes down on him. The green-haired man sucks him off and the Irishman mewls, knitting his eyebrows in pleasure. His heart races and he gasps in the room, jerking his hips up and fucking Anti’s mouth. He wants this. He needs it. God, please. Let him feel good.

 

Anti pulls back with a wet pop, kissing the tip of Jack’s cock, and he swallows. The Irishman calls him under his breath and the man crawls up to him through half-lidded eyes, both lolling out their tongues. Jack hums, sucking on the man’s tongue and tasting himself, and Anti is still so tender when opening him up. He’s not being harsh like before. He keeps glancing at Jack, as if checking if it’s alright. The brown-haired man brushes his own strands of hair away from his face and he moans when Anti slowly penetrates him. Jack feels the man’s shaft burying inside him, throbbing with want, and his mouth falls open. He locks his legs around the hitman’s waist and scratches his back, groaning for him to move. They let out hot puffs of air, shuffling in bed, and Jack turns his head to the side so Anti can plant more hickeys on his neck. Through glassy eyes, he sees their full-body mirror in the corner of their room and he bites his bottom lip at the sight. Jack can see the freckled man’s hips moving back and forth while fucking him and his own body squirming at every move. Anti breathes against his cheek, asking what he’s doing, and then his thrusts come to a stop. They just pant in the silence, both looking at their reflection in the mirror. Same face. Yet so different.

 

“Do you like what you see?” Anti provokes, giving a hard thrust and making him choke, body tensing up. “Mm… I think you do.”

 

The freckled man adjusts better to fuck harder and the Irishman mewls at the change of pace, finally getting what he wants. His shaft moves in and out of him, their cocks pulsing, and Jack arches his whole body while still glancing at the mirror. He hugs Anti, fingers burying in his locks, and they groan between moans. Their breathing picks up and yet the man still acts so sweet, pecking his cheek and rubbing a thumb on his waist. Fuck. Jack grimaces at himself, thinking he doesn’t deserve that. They kiss and the Irishman stares at their reflection one last time before closing his eyes, tensing up and spasming underneath the man. Jack cums holding back a cry and Anti follows him after a few more thrusts, jizzing inside him. The green-haired man buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck and the Irishman sighs, hugging him tighter. He stares at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, rosy chest moving up and down, and their faces are flushed. It feels good and he wants to hold onto that emotion for dear life.

 

Anti’s cell phone rings again in the background, bringing him back to reality, and the man snarls at it. Jack shushes him, brushing a hand over his curls that are all over his forehead, and the man grumbles. He still refuses to answer it and the boy doesn’t push it either. He traces Anti’s scars instead, brushing a finger over that long one on his right eye. Down to his cheek. A thought crosses his mind but he bites his own tongue, hating himself. Jack knows he’s prolonging the inevitable by doing that. It’s not going to work. If only he could stop himself from worrying so much and enjoying what he has. It’s his lover that calls his attention, caressing his cheek as well, and they exchange a look. Jack’s heart swells and Anti whispers that he’s beautiful, always so soft after sex. The boy grins and he wonders if the man still see innocence in him.

 

The hitman pulls out, asking if Jack’s alright, and he nods after a moment. Anti goes to grab a damp towel to clean them and the Irishman sits up, clearing his throat and blushing when seeing himself in the mirror. Anti comes back and Jack lets him touch his body, humming when the freckled man pecks behind his ear, where that _A_ tattoo is. He asks if he can finally make them something to eat and Anti snorts, walking butt-naked to their closet and taking some clothes for them. Jack accepts the man’s oversized sweater and wears just that, going to the kitchen, and he scratches the back of his head. Anti helps him cook and they eat in the afternoon, brushing their feet every now and then. Jack steals a few of the hitman’s fries and they watch some television to pass time. The green-haired man has an arm over his shoulders, resting on the back of the couch, and the boy narrows his eyes while looking at their window from afar. He’s about to question this weird feeling that he had all day when Anti’s cell phone buzzes once more.

 

“Just answer the goddamn phone,” he mumbles. “It’s not like you can avoid it forever.”

 

The man clicks his tongue but gets up, grabbing his phone from the coffee table and accepting the call. Jack scowls, pulling his legs up to the couch and leaning on the corner. Anti is clenching his jaw and replying through low murmurs, walking away so the boy won’t hear it. The Irishman takes a deep breath, feeling a tug in his heart, and it takes some time for the man to come back from their bedroom. He just stands at their doorway, looking down at the floor, and Jack knows already what’s about to happen. He opens his mouth to speak and the inevitable is there.

 

“Let me go with you,” he insists, not for the first time.

 

“No.”

 

“What is wrong with you? Why can’t I never go, Anti? I can hack! I can track people. I can fucking _fight_. You taught me everything you know! I’m stronger now and you know it.”

 

The man knits his eyebrows, walking towards him. “Is this what’s been bothering you? Not being part of this shit?”

 

“This _shit_ is your world and I want to be part of it, but you never let me! So yes, it fucking bothers me! You said you would give me anything I wanted!” Jack says in agony, dragging a hand over his face. “God, do you have any idea how it feels like to be left behind over and over? Waiting for you and being worried-sick that you might not come back. That I’ll receive that one fucking call that will crush me with the news.” His heart aches and he lets out a choked sob, letting out his thoughts. “And I can feel that there’s something wrong, Anti. I can _feel_ it. But you won’t even listen to me. You think everything is perfect all the time and gifts won’t fix anything!”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“I…” Jack grinds his teeth, face scrunching up in emotion but he holds back tears. He knows that Anti won’t like this and yet, he looks at the man in the eyes. Almost as if he’s begging for him to believe. “I think that we’re being watched.”

 

“Jesus christ, Jack.”

 

“Even before you came back, Anti! I’m sure I felt like someone was following me but I ignored! I ignored but it’s happening again and I k-keep thinking if we ever really left! If it was really our decision or if I let myself be fooled by y-”

 

“It’s been two years!” Anti snaps, glaring at the boy, and his voice fills the air. “Two fucking years since I’m keeping you safe! Stop thinking about the past! I gave up on everything for you! I risked so much! What do you want more from me?!”

 

Jack cries and he covers his face, shaking his head. He lets out a wail, lying more on the couch. “Whenever you leave, it pains me. You act like that’s n-normal but it’s not! It’s not normal, you idiot! S-Sometimes I feel like I’m still in that goddamn room, tied up. I feel _trapped._ ” Jack weeps, pointing at their door, and scowling with red eyes. Anti runs a hand through his hair, pacing around the room. “I w-worry that you’ll get bored and l-leave me for good! Every time you walk through that fucking door-! It’s… It feels like you don’t want me sometimes, you still decide what I can and can’t do! Everything is so confusing and, t-trust me, I wish it wasn’t like that anymore! My head hurts from overthinking, from wanting to find a reason to blame you for how I am now! From constantly t-trying to hold onto you, because I’m so scared that you will disappear one day and all there’ll be left is this fucked up version of me.”

 

“If you die, I die.”

 

Jack hiccups, tears smearing his face, and he frowns at Anti’s words. He blinks, vision blurred, and they lock their gaze. The man’s standing in front of him, a few feet away. Arms on his side, shoulders hunched down. His voice is low, so different from all this yelling.

 

“I always knew since the first time I saw you… That if you died first, I would follow in a heartbeat.” Jack sniffs and Anti presses his lips together, thinking for a moment. “You asked the other night about that and what would happen if I left you first… I ask myself that everyday and I’m terrified every time I walk through that door. I can’t stand the thought of losing you, and yes, I’m being selfish keeping you here. Because I _can’t_ handle that. A world without you is not worth living at all...”

 

Silence.

 

Jack looks to the side, clearing his throat, and he gathers his thoughts. They both take a deep breath and a few sobs still escape from the boy’s lips. There’s a headache settling in and all of that is such an odd contrast from when they were in bed. It stings, like they’re both twisting a knife into their hearts.

 

“It hurts loving you sometimes...” the Irishman whispers. “It’s exhausting.”

 

Anti’s face falls and he lets out a small whimper, barely there. He walks up to the boy and Jack doesn’t have any strength to stop him from lying down on top of him. The Irishman just sighs, quiet tears falling from his ocean eyes, and Anti buries his face in the crook of his neck. He hugs the boy, murmuring an apology and that he wants them to be happy. They both bump their noses against their skin, breathing into their scents, and Jack grimaces. He wants that too, but it’s difficult to have a normal life when his lover kidnapped him in the first place. He wants to love Anti without pain and worry. Without having to check his cell phone every goddamn second, afraid that he’ll lose a call and never hear him again. Their affection is maddening and they’re incredibly possessive of one another. It drives them insane knowing their relationship should never exist and yet there’s so much love, it’s suffocating. He hears Anti apologizing for yelling and the Irishman once again thinks he doesn’t deserve that. Jack’s creating all that problem for nothing and the freckled man has shown frustration, but also compassion.

 

Jack hugs him back and their legs tangle on the couch. It upsets him that Anti will still go at some point but he’s too tired to continue arguing. His throat hurts and the corners of his eyes burn from crying. Their hearts find their pace, soothing each other, and Jack caresses the man’s hair. It’s not difficult to say that, despite them fighting and not agreeing with one another, they seek their comfort. That’s the thing, though. Jack’s surrounded by Anti’s influence, his scent. His touch. Everything is so hard to decide. To think clear. The Irishman looks at that front door and he clenches his jaw, holding back a hum. They only move to lie in bed and Anti rests his head against the boy’s chest, looking out the window with tired eyes. He wonders if it will snow soon and Jack really doesn’t know what to say. They’re both drained from what just happened and they just mumble, until night falls. The freckled man falls asleep right after but the Irishman can’t bring himself to close his eyes.

 

He blinks and an hour passes. Anti shifts in his sleep, turning to the other side, and Jack stares at his back. That long scar down to his hip. More hours pass and he fidgets with his fingers over the covers. He wants to think without being choked by Anti’s presence, he wants to make sure that they can keep going with this. Jack purses his lips and he sits up, quietly placing his feet on the wooden floor. The Irishman’s heart aches just by the thought of doing this and he wonders if that’s how Anti feels. He stands up, being careful not to make a sound, and he opens his closet to get dressed. Jack glances at that old black coat, brushing his hand on it, but just takes his boots and knife instead. He walks out of their bedroom, heading to the front door, and he grabs his caramel coat along with the car keys. The Irishman wraps his fingers around the doorknob and he looks back, swallowing. He’s not leaving. He just wants to go for a ride and think. Have some fresh air. It’s not what Anti does to him. It’s not.

 

Jack opens the door and he walks out in the middle of the night, pushing his hair back. The cold breeze hits his skin and he puts his hands in his pockets while heading to their garage. The brown-haired man unlocks their black car and gets inside, turning on the ignition and heater before putting on the seatbelt. He drives through the narrow streets of Italy at first, but it doesn’t take too long for him to be in open space. Jack heads through a forest area that they visited once, knowing it’ll take a good few hours of just driving straight. It’s even better when there’s just one way road, everything quiet, and it’s easier to breathe. Alright. He remembers what Anti said to him and tries to find a solution that can work for both of them. Hell, maybe Jack could just stay behind a desk and help while the man goes in a mission. As long as they can keep in touch and watch each other. Right? Right.

 

There’s a buzzing sound and Jack curses under his breath when seeing Anti’s code name on his cell phone screen. Fuck. He didn’t want the man to know about this. The Irishman connects his phone to the car, accepting the call, and it’s two in the morning. Anti’s voice comes out slurred and the boy knows the pain of waking up without having your lover on the other side of their bed.

 

_“Jack, where are you?!”_

 

“I…” the Irishman sighs. “I just needed to think, I’m alright. I’m driving, honey.”

 

_“Come back right now. I don’t like this.”_

 

He hums, swallowing down a reply about knowing how that is. He opens his mouth to speak but then there’s light behind him, and he looks at the mirror to see a car with their stupid bright lights on. Jack gets it that it’s dark, but jesus fucking christ, no need to blind someone. The Irishman purses his lips and Anti continues to babble, a hint of anger in his voice. He says this is all unnecessary and, really, he’s right. Jack talks back, explaining what he just thought about the hitman’s work, but Anti groans that they should just be sleeping and resting their minds. Man, since when did he have the voice of reason? Jack jokes about it, huffing with a smile, and that car calls his attention again with a loud rumble. The Irishman’s smile falls and he speeds up, tightening his hold around the steering wheel. He has goosebumps and that car honks loudly, making him jump out of his skin. Ah, no. No. No. No. Jack’s heart skips a beat and there’s no way for him to mislead that vehicle. He speeds up more but they keep up easily, only darkness and trees around them.

 

“Abel,” he breathes, taking his eyes off the mirror and staring at his car screen with his lover’s name. “There’s someone follo-”

  
Jack doesn’t finish that sentence and everything happens way too fast. There’s a strong impact on his left side and the only thing that he manages to see for a split second is that car that hits him hard. The Irishman’s head crashes against the driver’s window and there’s a loud crack. His hands turn the steering wheel the other way around, spinning without control on the road. There’s no time to scream, to react. It’s just his heart going a mile a minute, mouth ajar with a throbbing pain, and it feels like all air leaves his lungs. The car flips over and over, the sound of shattering glass ringing into his ears. It’s deafening and he can only knit his eyebrows, arms swaying as if there’s no gravity. The Irishman’s stomach folds and there’s _so_ much noise all at once. He can’t move. He can’t move and everything is falling apart. The corners of Jack’s vision turn black even before the car comes to a stop and his whole world spins before there’s silence.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is my drawing of them! :)](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/post/183101400644)   
> 


	3. Passato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Violent descriptions and mild-gore. Please, proceed with care.**

A groan leaves Jack’s lips and he slowly opens his eyes, blinking and trying to focus his vision. There are bright lights flashing behind him, the colors red casting down on him every few seconds, and his arms are up in the air. He smells burned rubber and it’s hard to breathe. Jack opens his mouth, gasping for air, and everything is blurred. Fuck. His head’s throbbing. It hurts. What the fuck just happened? There’s a faint, cracked voice in the background, car lights flickering inside, and he knits his eyebrows. The Irishman grunts, gathering his bearings, and he curses under his breath when noticing he’s upside down. Okay, okay, okay. Think. _Think, Jack._ He weakly grasps onto nothing, panting and looking at a shattered mirror. There are people stepping out of the car, but they seem to be taking their time. Jack takes deep breaths and he pats his seatbelt, heart racing against his ribcage. The boy unbuckles the damn thing and he falls on shattered glass with a groan, right on the car’s ceiling. Fuck, okay. Gun. Gun. Anti always keeps a fucking gun somewhere in this goddamn car. Breathe. Breathe.

 

_“J-Jack?!”_

 

Anti.

 

He taps the floor, skin brushing against the glass, and his left eye burns. Jack hisses, closing it, and there are blood drops falling from his face but he can’t bring himself to care right now. Anti. He’s talking. No. Yelling. The call. It’s losing signal, his voice is twisted and he’s shouting at the boy. Those people walk forward and Jack sticks a hand under the driver’s seat, finally holding something familiar. The Irishman touches a Glock with trembling fingers and he checks if it’s loaded. He moans in pain but uses all his strength to talk back at the man on the other end.

 

“ZK!” he shouts, doing his best to read that car plate. Fuck. He blinks more, seeing double, and he squints his eyes. “5… 97CN!”

 

Jack crawls out the broken window from his side and he coughs, ignoring Anti’s pleas in the background. There’s smoke around him and he stumbles a couple of times when trying to stand up. He points the gun forward with wide eyes and his breath forms clouds mid-air. Jack limps forward and he opens his mouth to shout at them, but then there’s a sharp hit on the back of his head, eyes rolling back. The gun slips off his fingers and his knees go weak, bringing him down with a thud. Jack’s cheek hits the cold pavement and his body goes slack, a soft groan trapped in his throat, and he passes out once more. The brown-haired man loses track of time and the next time he wakes up, there’s still darkness and he’s sitting on a chair. Jack doesn’t move at first, breathing shallow, and he knits his eyebrows to gather his senses. He feels his warm breath hitting his cheeks and there’s a soft fabric brushing against his neck, meaning they covered his face. He tries listening for any sort of noise that would give away their position, but there’s just silence. Nothing.

 

Hoping that he’s really alone, he tries moving his hands only to feel a tug. Fuck. He’s tied up, arms behind his back, and there are faint chain sounds. Handcuffs. His ankles are also being kept in place and Jack’s heart beats faster at that, breathing losing pace. No. No. He can’t freak out right now. He needs to focus. He needs to get out of there. He’s so tired, though. He wants to sleep. The Irishman lets out a shaky sigh and he grimaces when tasting copper in his mouth. Jesus, did he cut his forehead in the car crash? His head is killing him and his skin feels weird, dry blood down to his left cheek. Why did he leave? He shouldn’t have left their home. Anti. My god. The Irishman knew he was right about them being watched and yet he was a fool. Jack’s been caught again and anger boils in his veins, so upset that this keeps happening to him. He’s stronger than before. He’s not that weak boy anymore, so why is he there?! That’s not fair and Jack hates that he failed himself. _Stupid boy._

 

There are muffled voices coming closer and the Irishman stay as still as he can. He narrows his eyes, trying to listen, but then a door opens. Footsteps. More than one person walking in and there’s shuffling, a low hum. Jack gasps when there’s a hand on the back of his neck and they tug on the rope around his neck, pulling the black hoodie from his head. The Irishman flinches at the artificial lights, squinting his eyes, and he purses his lips. There are two silhouettes before him and his vision is blurred, a light bulb behind them being strong enough for him at the moment. They click their tongues and someone grabs his hair, making his gasp. There’s a hand moving his face left and right, fingers opening his right eye until it hurts, and someone huffs while letting go of the boy. Jack’s head falls forward like a ragdoll and his eyelids are heavy.

 

“You brought the wrong one,” the voice in the left says, scratchy and sharp. “You’re lucky boss liked that or he’d have put a bullet in your head.”

 

“Fuck off, at least we’re allowed to have some fun with him.”

 

Jack’s sucking in air when they lift his head back again, only to feel knuckles breaking his skin. They punch him in the face and the impacts leave him even more dizzy, cheeks throbbing with pain, and he gasps mid groans. A strong one close to his temple makes him wince and his ears buzz, blood running down his open mouth. He tastes copper and his hair is damp, long strands disheveled and sticking to his face. Jack’s heart doesn’t race, too tired, and he can only let them use him for now. They take turns and hit his chest, stomach, kicking his legs that are tied up. The Irishman sees red splatters, flying across the dim room, and he tries to breathe whenever there’s a brief pause. He tugs his hands, getting a grip of the cuffs again, and he twists his wrist to touch his left thumb. Before he can continue, though, there’s a punch that makes him bite his tongue and cut his bottom lip. Jack’s painful moan comes out broken and his body goes slack, exhausted. They take a step back and it sounds like there’s laughter in the air before they turn around.

 

When they leave, Jack cracks his neck and spits blood on the dark floor with a scowl. He tells himself that these wounds will heal and it’ll make him stronger. That he will get out of there. It must’ve passed a day after the car crash and he’s certain that Anti is looking for him. They will find each other again and Jack will end whoever is doing this. He needs to stay calm. Breathe. Copper. Swallow. They didn’t cover his face again and they didn’t seem bothered to hide their identity either, so that means they don’t intend of releasing him at all. The brown-haired man needs to remember what Anti taught him. _Remember._ He looks down at his body, noticing he’s without his coat. He moves his right foot, feeling his knife brushing against his ankle. Good, they didn’t search him right. Jack adjusts his wrists once more and touches his thumb from his non-dominant hand, heart clenching in anticipation. Okay. Okay, c’mon. He can’t stay there. He needs to do something. C’mon. The boy’s inner cheeks are cut due to the punches and yet he bites them more, grounding himself. His nostrils flare faster and he shuts his eyes, tightening his hold around his thumb.

 

Jack’s whole face scrunches up and he lets out a choked cry in agony, breaking his finger. Tears fall down his eyes, blood smearing them pink, and he swallows a scream. Fuck. Anti’s not going to like that at all. Why did he leave? The Irishman pushes the handcuffs down, grimacing at his throbbing thumb, but he keeps going until his left hand is free. He sighs, arms falling to his side, and he bends over to loosen up the ropes around his ankles. Jack takes that curved knife Anti brought for him and he still pretends to be tied up, only holding his arms back with that weapon in hands. The Irishman lets his head fall, chin brushing against his chest, and he takes even breaths. Jack waits. And waits. Patience is a virtue and he embraces it, licking his lips. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his cheeks are swollen by now. Jack’s left eye is practically closed and there’s an ache whenever he breathes too deep. He thinks of Anti and how scary it is that the last time they were together, they fought. His words were hurtful, despite the hitman doing the same with him.

 

It’s the sound of that door opening that brings him back to reality and he tigthens his hold on the knife. There’s only one person this time and Jack glances at a guy in front of him, who’s carrying a briefcase. The man sighs, shaking his head, and murmuring something about people being nasty in italian. Jack frowns and, when the guy opens his case, the boy realizes that he’s a medic. He relaxes, letting the light-haired man clean his wounds and stitch that cut on his forehead. Jack purses his lips, not liking to have someone else doing these things but Anti. He can’t risk losing more blood, though. It stings but he doesn’t complain, deciding that he won’t hurt this person. Whoever is in charge of this shit, wants to keep Jack alive. He waits for the man to leave once he’s done, looking disappointed at the world, and those other two assholes show up moments later. Good. They mention his cuts and bruises, saying that their boss wanted to keep his pet clean, and Jack stares with a deadpan expression.

 

When one of them raises their fist, the Irishman sinks his knife into their arm and stands up in a quick move. He bends the man’s wrist until there’s a pop, hitting his chest with his elbow and punching the second guy. They grunt, fighting back, but Jack dodges their hits. The boy ducks and cuts the back of his legs, making him fall. There’s an arm around his throat, bringing him back with a choke, and Jack uses all his strength to bend over until they both roll onto the floor. He pants, vision swimming, but he keeps punching and punching. His thumb hurts. Knife sinking into non-deadly spots. His heart races and he stumbles a couple of times, smashing their heads on the floor and sighing when they black out. Jack places a hand against the wall, seeking support, and he gets up with trembling legs. He takes his knife out of someone’s thigh and cleans it on his black pants before patting their sides. The brown-haired man finds a key and he goes towards the door, limping with a glare.

 

Jack walks up stairs, firm grip on his knife, and he finds himself in a narrow hallway. There’s no one around and that’s not a good sign already. He pushes his hair back and he holds his breath when reaching the part of a house. It has a tall ceiling and Jack recognizes the baroque style, meaning he’s still in Italy. He’s careful not to bump into anything, seeing fancy furniture and statues. It’s too quiet, only the sound of his heart beating against his ribcage, and then there’s light. Jack winces when walking by a doorway, light too bright after being in the dark for hours. It takes a few seconds, vision adjusting, but he sees leather couches in front of him. A rug and coffee table with glass whiskey bottles. Bookshelves and then, a desk in the end of the room. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind it cast down a morning light on a silhouette. Jack scrunches up his nose at that and, when the person turns around to look at him, his blood runs cold. His hold around the knife quivers and there’s fear kissing his heart.

 

He sees silver hair, a white suit and a smile that it’s full of venom. The man rests his hands on a leather chair, leaning in to stare at the boy, and Jack’s shoulders fall. The knife slips from his fingers, hands immediately going up to grab his hair. No. No, he must be seeing things. The Irishman blinks, shaking his head, and he sees a living room. Dark’s brown eyes, so worried. Anti next to him, both terrified to lose one another. The green-haired man shaking him and him, on his knees. Begging, choking on his own saliva. Jack’s eyes widen, staring down at the wooden floor, and his breathing picks up.

 

“No, no, no…” he mumbles. “We left. This isn’t real, this isn’t real. We left. This isn’t real.”

 

“It seems like you remember me,” Felix chuckles. “That makes me happy!”

 

Jack covers his face, resting his back against a wall and then leaning forward. Holding himself so he won’t fall.

 

“You’ve been fooling around for far too long… Honeymoon is over, kid.”

 

There are arms holding him, men showing up, and they drag him towards the silver-haired man. Jack tries pulling away but they’re strong, forcing him to sit down in front of that desk, and they tie his hands to keep him still. The Irishman’s too in shock to do anything anyway, so he just stares with wide eyes at the man resting against his desk. Felix sighs, tapping his fingers there, and Jack hates that a tear falls from his eye. Everything stings, head throbbing, and he swallows back a sob.

 

“I gotta be honest with you, though,” Felix says. “I wanted our dear, reckless man but… You look so much like him, they’ve mistaken you. Can you believe that? I’m very happy with that now because we never really had a conversation. You will do wonderful.”

 

“I-I… I don’t… I don’t u-understand. We… You. D-Dark said...”

 

“I let you both leave.”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes,” the man purses his lips, watching Jack tremble like a leaf. The Irishman looks down, holding back tears and gasps. “I’m afraid so, kid.”

 

Jack shakes his head. He can’t believe it. He can’t believe that he never got out. Felix’s been keeping track of them and, the thought of them never being quite alone, rips out a broken whimper from him. The man said he wanted Anti as well, not him. They thought Jack was Anti. What are they going to do with him? Why is Felix doing this? Why can’t he leave them alone? For the love of god, please. The Irishman didn’t ask for any of this and he can’t go through all of that again. He would rather die than to feel all that pain. He flinches when Felix caresses his hair, pushing strands back, and he murmurs something about his men being too rude. Hurting Jack’s face. The silver-haired man congratulates him from trying to escape, adding pressure on the boy’s thumb, and the Irishman groans. His stomach twists when Felix says they’ll have fun and he spits on the man’s face, glaring with rage. There’s a huff and Felix snaps his fingers, ordering his men to take Jack away. They hoist him by the armpits, feet dragging, and the silver-haired man waves with a smile.

 

They walk down stairs, not minding the Irishman grunting whenever his back hits a step, and there’s that narrow hallway again. It’s so dark, the opposite of that mansion from above, and they take him to that room but leave him on the cold floor. They use shackles, impossible for him to escape from without fucking up his whole hand, and Jack’s too tired by the time they leave. He can’t move much, back resting against a concrete wall, and it’s hard to see. He pulls his legs up, hugging himself, and the chains are loud in the empty room. The Irishman’s heart aches and he let the tears fall in silence, replaying what Felix told him. He wonders what Anti would be feeling right now, if he was there instead. There’s fear and loneliness consuming Jack, blaming himself for leaving and yet knowing something was terribly wrong. Why did they fight? He was so stupid. He should’ve stayed quiet. _Anti will find me,_ he thinks to himself and tries to hold onto that small hope. _He always does._

 

Jack ends up falling asleep.

 

He has a concussion and he doesn’t know if enough hours have passed for him to do that, but his body just shuts down. The Irishman has shapeless dreams, only darkness behind his eyelids, and he shivers in his sleep. When the door opens, he jolts awake with a gasp, seeing Felix walking in with his men. They set a metal table in the middle of the room, placing a side one, and they bring tools that make Jack swallow. Felix says good morning, so he must have slept for another day. The man takes off his suit jacket, rolling up his white shirt and putting on gloves. Jack purses his lips, already preparing himself mentally for what’s to come, and someone walks towards him. He’s punched in the face again, a low groan falling from his lips, and they remove his shackles while he’s dizzy. Felix tells them to be gentle and they bring the boy closer to that table, lifting him up to place him there. Jack groans and tries leaving, but they bound their wrists and ankles. Leather tight on his skin. A single light shining above them, making him wince.

 

Felix picks up some scissors, humming under his breath, and he touches the hem of Jack’s sweater. The boy’s breathing picks up, nostrils flaring.

 

“You’re gonna fucking pay for this,” he groans, grinding his teeth, and Felix starts cutting off his clothes. “I’m gonna kill you! Anti will find me and we’ll end your fucking life!”

 

“My, my… So much rage coming from such a little thing.”

 

Jack clenches his hands into fits, embracing pain, and angry tears fall from his eyes when listening to torn fabric in the air. “I’m gonna make you suffer.”

 

The silver-haired man is unphased by his words, and he rather agrees that Anti will find them. He wants to make Jack suffer out of curiosity. The Irishman scowls hard, listening to him wonder about what Anti did to him. How did it feel to kidnap and torture someone? How come they’ve fallen in love? What made the hitman change his mind, to the point of throwing away everything he knew? Felix takes off the boy’s cut clothes, leaving him just with his boxer briefs, and the metal table is cold underneath him. Jack swallows hard, throat closing, and he hates when the man touches that scar down to his stomach. No one can touch him. Only Anti. Only Anti can see him like that. No one else. Don’t. Felix takes a scalpel this time and, when it lightly touches the Irishman’s stomach, he tenses up.

 

“Tell me… If I open you up, do you think I’ll find what Anti saw in you?” He adds more pressure, cutting the boy’s skin, and Jack closes his eyes while taking a deep breath. “I wonder how you sound like. I bet I can make you scream in the next hour.”

 

Jack uses all his strength not to open his mouth when the man starts. Felix is patient and his movements are graceful, nothing hurried. He paints the boy’s skin with small cuts and, at first, Jack thinks that’s nothing. It’s a light sting here and there, but he does gasp when Felix cuts the sole of his feet. Under his fingers and on the back of his knees. The Irishman’s eyes burn with tears and he lets out choked whimpers, groaning when the man holds him by the chin. Felix turns his face to see that tattoo, whispering that they’re adorable, and he slices his cheeks. His neck, chest. Everywhere. There are thin lines of blood trickling down his pale skin and he’s trembling, still looking up at that goddamn light with rage. Felix whispers that he practically raised Anti, teaching everything that he knew, and that it hurts to be betrayed. He almost sounds genuinely heartbroken, but Jack doesn’t even have time to think when the man uses pliers on his side. The boy’s eyes widen and he groans loudly, face scrunching up in pain, and Felix smiles.

 

A punch would be better than this. The pliers pick on him and it pulls his skin until breaks, blood streaming down the table, and Jack squirms. The leather cuffs keep him in place and he sobs, remembering Anti doing that to him in a different way. He bites his bottom lip, tasting blood in his mouth, and Felix tortures him for what it feels like an eternity. At some point, Jack looks to the side, seeing some silhouettes in the dark, and he begs with his eyes. Begs for those men to help him out, in a silly desperate thought. Jack writhes and whimpers, lips quivering, but he swallows down every scream that threatens to leave his mouth. His vision is blurred, eyes filled with tears, and everything burns. He can’t believe that this is happening again. _Again._ God, he’s so weak. He keeps getting caught and hurt. He’s a fool to think that they’d have a happily ever after.

 

Felix removes his gloves, smeared with blood, and he orders his man to call that doctor again. Jack’s not sure if he likes that. The silver-haired man hurts him but still wants to keep his wounds clean, stitching anything that’s too deep. The Irishman can’t do anything, only Anti crossing his mind over and over. He tries reflecting about what he wants, what to say to Anti if they ever see each other again. The hitman was being sweet, wasn’t he? He was being tender and really trying to understand the boy. Jack closed him off, but Anti also stops him from growing. They’re a mess. He keeps thinking, eyes not focused, and he really doesn’t remember when he comes back to that floor. He’s shivering and every inch of his body aches.

 

Everything turns into a blur. Time slips away from his mind and, every time he blinks, Felix is there. He can only assume that a day has passed whenever the man enters the room and each time, it’s worse. He whispers poisonous words about Anti, telling Jack that they’ve been keeping in touch. The Irishman does his best to shut these thoughts down, but it breaks him when Felix shows a video of them together. Jack tries turning his face away but the man forces him to look at a cell phone screen. His cell phone. Familiar moans filling the air in that dim room. The Irishman’s flushes, embarrassed to see himself going down on his lover, and Anti keeps recording him. Felix asks how many of these videos have they made, saying he always thought that the hitman had a pretty mouth, and Jack zones out when feeling fingers brushing on his lips. There’s a needle in his arm. More time loss. Copper. He tries checking himself when he’s alone, a thin line of anxiety into his stomach, but there are never signs of what he fears the most. Nor a bitter taste in the back of his throat. It’s a small relief in the middle of this chaos but he’s worried that his mind is playing tricks on him.

 

Sometimes he’s in a dining room, ropes around his wrists, and Felix is eating across from him. Despite the cold, he sweats, and someone feeds him awkwardly. Jack can’t taste what’s in his mouth and it’s hard to swallow, but his body might collapse if he doesn’t eat something. The Irishman catches a glimpse of the person, leaning closer to grab more food, and he doesn’t even think twice before sinking his teeth into the person’s neck. There’s a scream and a gasp, cold grey eyes focused on him. A smile. Jack rips off a piece of flesh and spits towards Felix, blood dripping down his chin. Needle. Blackout. He thinks more fingers are broken and maybe a rib is fractured. It’s hard to breathe sometimes. The silver-haired man shows up with a camera at some point, Anti’s name falling from his lips, and he tugs on the boy’s hair so his bloody face is right up on the screen. He leans into a soft touch, so out of himself, and everything is constantly spinning. Why is he there again? He forgot. Jack sees their old bedroom, snow and a rooftop. Right. It’s December. He mumbles to himself, curled up on the concrete floor, and every thought loses its meaning.

 

Light.

 

A hand touching his hair. Jack whimpers weakly, curling more as if wanting to hide himself, but the person pulls him to take his arms. The Irishman hears the shackles sing and a groan. Shuffling. He waits for that metal table, leather cuffs and needles, but they never come. He’s dragged closer and there’s warmth, a hand tapping on his cheek. There’s a rough voice in the air that makes his eyes flutter, trying to open them. Jack’s mouth is ajar and he looks up with hazy sapphire eyes, seeing himself.

 

“B-Baby…” the man chokes and he looks so torn. So broken like the boy. “Baby, t-talk to me. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. What did they do to you? P-Please, say something...”

 

Jack sighs, closing his eyes again, and there’s more shuffling. A swear. The man dresses him up with a coat and that sparks something in the Irishman. A memory and affection. It’s warm and he hums, leaning into the touch, and there are arms wrapped around him. He curls on the man’s lap like he belongs there, resting a bruised cheek against his chest, and there’s a kiss on his forehead. There’s another pair of footsteps and Jack tenses up, listening to Felix’s voice, and the man tightens their hold. The brown-haired man uses all his strength to open his eyes, eyelids heavy, and he sees Felix shaking his head across the room, hands on his pockets. Jack stares at the person keeping him warm and he sees green. Green hair. Freckles. Anti. That citric scent he likes so much. He came back. Anti clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring, and tears fall down the hitman’s face. Jack tries moving up, breathing heavy, but nothing quite crosses his mind.

 

“You’ve changed,” Felix murmurs at Anti. “You’re soft now… Look at you, crying because of a double. That’s such a shame.”

 

The green-haired man makes a motion to stand up but the boy whimpers, tugging on his clothes. Anti caresses his hair, saying something Jack doesn’t quite catch, and he lets go of the man. The Irishman drags a hand over his face, trying to wake up, but his vision swims when he does that. God. Why is it so hard to think? He hears them talking, angry shouts echoing in the room, and Anti stays in front of him. His voice comes out broken, desperate and full of sorrow. There’s agony in all of their hearts and Felix remembers his promise about hurting the boy, if he was betrayed. Jack raises his head to stare at him, shoulders hunched down.

 

“I just wanted to show you how much it hurts to betray me. To leave someone that taught you so much. It’s something hard to forget, you know?” Felix explains and the boy knits his eyebrows, somehow understanding what he means. “I’m very patient, as you can see. I gave you the peace you wanted and I’m happily taking it away. I told you that I would make you watch your double suffer and I’m a man of my word.”

 

“Felix, we don’t have to do this…”

 

Jack looks down at their hands to see them holding guns. He sees his knife with Felix, smiling like always and so confident. The Irishman’s heart doesn’t race, not quite present, and they discuss some more before there’s a groan. Gunshots hurt his ears and they fight with loud punches, smooth movements while trying to disarm one another. Jack supports himself with his arms, pushing himself up and wincing at his cut feet. He stumbles a couple of times, listening to them grunting in pain, but he continues. The Irishman leans against the wall and sees them holding their faces, blood running down Anti’s temple. The hitman’s emotional, making mistakes and falling. Felix kicks his stomach with a huff and the green-haired man has trouble getting up, both still arguing. The silver-haired man fixes his rolled-up sleeves, complaining that the man needs more practice, and Jack eyes his knife on the floor. He takes a step forward, fingers brushing against the wall, and he’s quiet.

 

“To this day, I still don’t understand,” Felix continues, staring down at Anti and keeping him there. “How come this ruthless assassin, that I created with my bare hands, have fallen so easily? You got too close to the sun, my Icarus, and I felt that fall.”

 

“Don’t take him away from me,” the green-haired man whispers. “You can have me, but not him.”

 

The Irishman leans down, hands wrapping around his knife, and he glares at the man’s back. He makes no sound, limping his way closer, and he’s calm. Felix’s voice trails off when the boy stops behind him, feeling his presence, and the silence is loud in the room. Jack thinks of everything that this man caused him. He remembers those times he looked back, a shiver running down his spine as if being watched. He remembers that day they got in a plane to Italy, holding hands while watching the sky from a small window. Jack learning how to fight and protect himself, even though he fails still. Anti whispering that he loves the boy. Tangled sheets. A gunshot. A goodbye. The Irishman tightens his hold on the knife and he’s movement is fast, gracious. He blinks and Felix’s throat is cut open, a choked sound reaching his ears. The silver-haired man covers his neck, blood running down his skin, and they watch him fall on his knees. Anti pants, eyes wide, and Jack’s serene. Finally. Finally the past will be gone. The Irishman smiles weakly, dropping the knife, and Felix squirms in front of him.

 

“Y-You…” Jack mumbles, the corners of his eyes turning black, and he hears the man chokes on his own blood. “You c-came back. You came b-back to me.”

 

Anti gets up with a groan. He looks exhausted, and the boy thinks he must be the same.

 

“I always do…”

 

Jack huffs and his legs give out, passing out before he reaches the ground.

 

 

 

 


	4. Libertà

_“Why didn’t you leave?”_

 

_“You’re stupid, you know that?”_

 

_“You should have left.”_

 

Jack wakes up, slowly opening his eyes, and he blinks at a familiar ceiling. His tongue is heavy and it feels like there’s a cotton in his mouth, throat dry. The Irishman’s lying on a bed. Their bed. He looks down at the covers and remembers them shopping for it. Something so casual between them, discussing which color they wanted. Jack tries moving his fingers to touch it, seeing light grey and white, but winces. Two fingers from his right hand are immobilized with a splint, such as his left thumb. He looks to the side, sunlight coming from their windows, and Anti is sitting on their windowsill. One leg hanging out and shirtless, wearing just sweatpants. Italy is their background and Jack’s chest slowly rises with his breathing, staring for a moment. The man’s face is turned to the other side, looking at the view, and his freckles stand out under the sun. His scars and new bruises. Jack tries calling for him and his voice comes out broken, but Anti turns to him nonetheless. The man immediately goes to the boy, sitting next to him, and there are hands caressing his cheeks.

 

Emerald meets sapphire and Jack remembers how blindly they’ve stared at each other. Countless times that felt like an eternity while they held each other. How could he forget that?

 

“My love…” Anti barely whispers and there are dark circles under his eyes. The tender name makes Jack hum, both scrunching up their faces. “How are you feeling?”

 

“W-Water.”

 

The hitman gets up and practically runs towards the kitchen, his footsteps loud in the house. Jack huffs and coughs, grimacing at a headache. Anti comes back with a glass of water and he puts his hand on the back of the boy’s head, helping him drink from it. The Irishman sighs, coughing some more, and Anti places the glass on their nightstand. He caresses the boy’s hair and Jack wraps his fingers around the man’s wrist. They rest their foreheads against each other and they just breathe, the hitman snuggling as much as he can without hurting him. Jack looks down at his body, catching a glimpse of bandages covering cuts and bruises, and he purses his lips. Anti mumbles that he’s sorry once more and the Irishman shakes his head. They have a lot of talking to do but now he’s just taking it in the sight of the freckled man, in front of him. There was a brief moment Jack thought he wouldn’t see him again and he’s so glad that he was wrong.

 

When the brown-haired man opens his mouth to speak, Anti stops him. He murmurs that they should rest and that they can discuss things later. That he’s safe. Jack raises a weak hand to touch his lover’s cheek and he nods, both wanting to heal. Anti lies down on his left side of the bed, careful when hugging the boy, and Jack breathes into his scent. His cheek brushes against the man’s green locks and they let the hours pass. The hitman dozes off and Jack watches him, too tired of being unconscious, but he figures Anti didn’t sleep since they were apart. Now that his mind is clear and there’s no darkness hovering over him, the brown-haired man thinks about what happened. Anti would never do that to him. He never was like that man and never will. Jack remembers when he saw kindness in his hitman, warmth in his green eyes.

 

A raw passion burning in their hearts.

 

The freckled man stirs himself awake after a couple of hours and Jack likes seeing him groggy from sleep, not frowning. Anti asks if he’s alright with a hoarse voice and the boy nods, but mumbles that he feels gross. Dirty. Emotionally too. The green-haired man stands up then and uncovers Jack, whispering he’ll remove the bandages for the bath. The Irishman’s face falls the more his skin shows, only wearing boxer briefs, and he’ll have so many little white scars in the near future. Anti catches him looking, taking off the boy’s briefs, and he knows what the man’s thinking. That he loves him anyway. Jack shrugs, still upset about it, and he puts his arms around Anti’s shoulders. The hitman carries him towards the bathroom bridal-style and the house is quiet, only their hearts calming down. He watches the man fill the bathtub with warm water, curling his toes and feeling small cuts there. Anti brings him to the tub and Jack doesn’t even mind when his injuries sting, just wanting to get clean.

 

“It’s December 10th,” the freckled man murmurs, picking up a sponge to lightly touch the boy with it. “You were gone for a week…”

 

Jack blinks at him, pulling his legs up to hug them, and water dances around him. “I kept thinking of you.” His words are barely a whisper, half-lidded eyes focused on his lover, and Anti looks so crestfallen. “You know… Felix tried to convince me that you knew about this. That you were lying all this time. But I could never believe it, not really. I kept thinking about what we’ve been through and I felt like I was living it all again… I could never forget you. I can’t and I don’t want to.”

 

Anti cleans him with care, taking a deep breath, and he knits his eyebrows. “I should’ve believed in you. I should’ve trusted you. I’m so sorry… You were right. We can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

 

“Me neither,” Jack shakes his head and there’s silence.

 

He watches small ripples in the bathtub, mind drifting, and the freckled man thinks to himself as well. Water drops fall from the tap and it turns light pink from Jack’s blood. Anti is gentle, whispering what he’ll do, and he dries the boy once they’re done. The Irishman sighs, standing in the bathroom, and the man kneels down to rub his legs with a towel. The hitman doesn’t want him walking but Jack brushes it off, making his way towards a mirror and seeing his real reflection. The Irishman’s lips part and he touches that cut on his face, from the car crash. It starts from his left temple, reaching half of his forehead in a crooked horizontal line. Stitches still there. Anti shows up behind him and their eyes meet through the mirror. The hitman hugs him, caressing his naked body and feeling his wounds, and he kisses Jack’s shoulder. He murmurs that the boy is stunning, no matter what. The brown-haired man huffs with a smile and Anti helps him trim his beard, wanting him to feel more like himself. Jack sits down and lets the man take care of him, even buzzing his hair to have his undercut back.

 

They don’t talk but their bodies move easily together, knowing their gestures. Anti lightly taps on his shoulder, as if saying he’s done, and Jack stands up while pushing his hair back. The hitman carries him out of the bathroom, leaving the boy naked, and the Irishman bumps his nose on the man’s neck. Anti grabs new bandages and gives some painkillers for him. They get back in bed, both lying under the covers for warmth, and they stare at each other side-by-side. Jack’s fresh, skin soft, and he feels comfortable. High from that bath. He looks at Anti’s tattoo from there, his initial, and he licks his lips before speaking. Voice low, delicate.

 

“I can’t live without you,” he admits. “I want to be with you, because it is _my_ choice. I want you to understand that. I don’t want to feel trapped anymore. I don’t want to wait forever... I am you and you are me. We can’t be apart, Abel. We just can’t.”

 

“I know,” Anti breathes.

 

He touches the boy’s cheek, caressing him there, and his finger brushes behind his ear. On that tattoo. Anti mumbles how desperate he felt, listening to that car crash. God. He heard it. He searched for that car plate but it was still so difficult to find him. It was only when the hitman received a video from Felix that he knew where to go. Jack blinks, seeing that man holding a camera and tugging his hair. The corners of his eyes burn with tears and he can imagine very well Anti’s pain of seeing his lover like that. The freckled man whispers how hard it was to meet Felix. To fight him. Jack knows that they had a history together and that Felix meant a lot for Anti, even after all what they’ve been through. Anti’s relieved that he’s gone, though. It’s just something he couldn’t have done it. Jack looks down at his own hands, his broken fingers, and he remembers how it felt to slice the man’s throat. It felt freeing, so different from what he did two years ago. He really meant those words from before. Part of Anti lives in him now and vice versa. Laced memories and emotions, tied into one.

 

“I t-thought I was going to lose you again,” the man sobs and Jack perks up at that, so rare to see the hitman so emotional. “I was s-so terrified when I saw you, drugged and hurt! You looked r-right through me. I thought that was it. T-that the universe was finally going to take you away f-from me.”

 

They both cry, tears smearing their faces, and Jack’s heart aches. “So d-did I… I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry we fought… I was being so hard on y-you.”

 

Anti buries his face in the crook of the Irishman’s neck and he simply _breaks down._  Jack never saw him in that way before. They’ve cried together in silence, over silly arguments, but never quite like that. The hitman sobs, shoulders shaking, and Jack feels tears trickling down his skin. He weeps with his lover, caressing his green locks, and the man lets out broken whimpers. Jack shushes him, whispering that they’re together now and things will be alright. That Felix is gone and they can be themselves again. It was just another rough path that they had to face it. Anti holds him, as if he’s afraid Jack will disappear, and the boy kisses the top of his head. The green-haired man chokes and his breathing picks up, hyperventilating. The Irishman moves to cup his cheeks, wiping tears away, and he looks at his lover. This is a person that kidnapped him and Jack has him in his arms, ready to sooth him. They’ve both changed so much. They’re vulnerable and yet powerful together.

 

Jack brushes their lips against one another, whispering sweet nothings, and Anti sobs into his mouth. Their beards brush and the freckled man pecks his lips, both stealing sloppy kisses between their tears. Anti sighs, calming down, and Jack tilts his head to deepen their kiss. They breathe and it’s so good to taste him again, split tongue brushing on his. He can’t never forget this. That is real and warm, a spark running through his body. He pulls away just enough to rub his nose against Anti’s, making him snort with an eskimo kiss. Jack’s heart flutters and they don’t leave the bed, choosing to stay in their arms. He waits for the man to calm down, cold breeze coming from their windows, and they doze off. Jack doesn’t remember his dreams and he’s grateful for that, not wanting to see that man’s face behind his eyelids.

 

When morning comes, Anti carries him towards the bathroom to help him pee and Jack insists in putting toothpaste for the man, like usual. The hitman’s eyes are puffy from crying but he’s back to his light scowl, murmuring. He makes them breakfast and Jack waits in bed, wearing one of the man’s oversized hoodies and nothing more. Anti gives him coffee and they eat with legs crossed, fully waking up as there’s food in their stomachs. Jack looks at him, thinking, and the green-haired man raises an eyebrow at that.

 

“Are you going to leave? For a mission?”

 

“Fuck no, I’ll be here. They’ll find someone else. I’ll stay with you,” Anti grumbles and the boy’s lips part. “You stare at me a lot.”

 

The Irishman snorts and it turns into a full bubbly laugh, recalling their words from the past. The man hums, amused at their inside joke, and he watches the boy’s shoulders shake. Jack sighs, sipping from his coffee, and they go back to their silence. Anti goes to grab more food in the kitchen, noticing that the boy is hungry, and the Irishman rests his back against the bed frame. He holds his mug, warming up his hands, and Anti’s hoodie is soft on his skin. He touches that forehead cut again, looking out their window and seeing Florence. Man. They really ran away, huh? He’s really in a different part of the world because he followed Anti. The freckled man comes back, huffing when sitting down.

 

“What if we never met?” Jack wonders. “What would you be doing right now?”

 

“Looking for you.”

 

The brown-haired man puts his mug down, sending him a look, and he calls the man cheesy. Anti shrugs, frowning, and he crosses his arms to look tough.

 

Once they’re done with breakfast, though, the boy says they need to talk about what happened. He still angry that Felix got all that private recording. Anti started filming them having sex in the beginning of this year, so they could both have something to cheer them up while they were apart. The hitman murmurs he murdered everyone in that mansion and he thought of calling for Dark, desperate for help. But it felt too personal. Jack nods, telling himself that he only killed Felix to protect them. And for revenge. They did that together and Anti sees it now that he was stopping themselves to be equals. The Irishman tries remembering what was exactly going on but there are gaps on his mind. The green-haired man asks what he fears the most, if Felix touched him, but the boy shakes his head. He doesn’t think so but he’ll never quite be sure. He doesn’t want to remember about it either. Anti holds his hand, scowling and clearly upset, but there’s sorrow in his eyes.

 

They know these next couple of days will be slow, only resting and healing. Talking. The freckled man plays with Jack’s black ring, brushing his lips on the boy’s knuckles. Anti doesn’t leave the Irishman’s side and he makes sure to change his bandages whenever it’s needed. He cooks for both of them. He takes out the trash. He sets their laptop on bed so they can watch a movie. Jack dozes off during the day, resting his face on his man’s shoulder, and sometimes they whisper to each other. Anti takes him to the bathroom, helping him pee and shower. He caresses the boy’s hair. It’s mostly quiet, just them, and Jack appreciates that so much. His thoughts are not screaming at him, doubts taking over his mind, and he sees that kindness in Anti once again. Their legs tangle and they sleep holding one another, knowing that tomorrow will be just like that and that they need to be patient.

 

Jack can walk, not minding the cuts under his feet that much anymore, but Anti complains under his breath. The Irishman wants to stretch a bit, though, so he paces in the next day and looks at their home. He stops in the living room, wearing boxer briefs and a sweater from the hitman, and he starts their record player. Anti leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, with a black cardigan and sweatpants. The soft melody fills the air and Jack stares at nothing, just feeling. Slow. There’s warm and he looks down at his hand to see the freckled man’s, holding his. They entwine their index fingers, being careful with the boy’s splint, and Anti gently pulls him while wrapping an arm around his waist. Jack lets the man move him the way he wants, touching his shoulder, and they’re chest-to-chest. The hitman sways them and a smile shows on the boy’s face, their feet calmly shuffling in the living room. The green-haired man looks at him and Jack touches his cheek, caressing him there. He looks so heartbroken still. The Irishman wants that to go away. He doesn’t want his man suffering anymore. When he whispers that, Anti purses his lips.

 

“You’re not my captive,” the freckled man murmurs, resting his forehead against Jack’s. “You’re my lover and you’re free to leave, even though you don’t want to. I know I failed you again.”

 

The boy hums and his heart clenches at the man’s words. “I love you so much, I would let you kill me… Did you know that? Even if your hands were around my throat… I would let you.”

 

“Mm.” Anti moves a hand to touch Jack’s neck and they exchange a dark gaze, filled with this crazy passion. “I would let you end me too, baby.”

 

They smile, swaying with that melody, and they hug each other with a sigh. If there’s something that they can get out of that horrible situation, is that their love only gets stronger. It’s another proof that they want to be together, no matter what. That they will fight, with nails and teeth if they must. Even if what’s on their way is themselves.

 

A week passes and it snows.

 

Jack sits on the windowsill, hugging his legs, and he stares at their beautiful view in the night. He’s wearing warm clothes, a thick sweater and socks, and he feels more like himself. The Irishman watches the snow, falling so gently from the dark sky, and Christmas is right around the corner. He closes his eyes for a moment, seeing that rooftop, and a small smile shows on his face. Jack hears the front door open and he looks to the side to see Anti walking in from afar, with a scar and coat. There are snowflakes on his clothes, beginning to melt, and his cheeks are pink. He walks into their house, placing paper bags over the kitchen counter, and he takes off his gloves while entering their bedroom. Jack hums, opening his arms, and Anti goes to him. The green-haired man kisses the top of his head and the boy hugs his waist, welcoming him home. The hitman says he brought some stuff to make a risotto and a brand of chocolate Jack was craving for. The Irishman smiles more, saying he’s a man who provides and Anti hums, puffing his chest and lifting his chin.

 

The man’s playful aura fades and he murmurs something important. He says that Marcello, one of his colleagues, called a while ago. Anti says that they helped to get rid of what they left behind in that mansion and Jack nods. They burned the bodies and the Irishman wonders if Felix’s ashes fell like snow. He purses his lips, looking out the window once more, and Anti’s quiet. He knows that the freckled man lost a friend and that he’s grieving, as complicated as it is. He told the Irishman about where he used to stay, where he trained and what they did. Anti says he’s free but Jack thinks the hitman is the same now, without Felix. They can breathe, without someone tugging on their collar. Anti lifts his head by the chin, calling his attention, and he leans down to kiss the boy. Jack closes his eyes, opening his mouth, and they tilt their heads while tasting one another. The freckled man’s mouth is warm, split tongue brushing against his, and their lips make a sound when pulling back.

 

“Make love to me,” Jack whispers.

 

Anti caresses his cheek and he picks the Irishman up so easily, walking them to their bed. Jack sits on the edge of their mattress and the hitman rolls up his sweater, running his hands down the boy’s chest. Their movements are lazy, calm, and he pushes Jack’s sweatpants and briefs down. The brown-haired man lifts his hips to help and the man kneels down, caressing his skin while sliding off his outfit. Jack watches him, blinking through half-lidded eyes, and Anti takes off his socks. The Irishman likes when the freckled man brushes his fingers on his feet, soothing, and he likes seeing the man on the floor for him. Anti looks up at him, warm emerald eyes, and he makes his way up to plant a soft kiss on Jack’s lips. The brown-haired man takes off the hitman’s coat and unbuckles his belt, undressing his lover. There’s something really breathtaking and yet so simple to see their bodies like that. Vulnerable. It’s profound and sincere, cocks soft and hearts slow.

 

They fall in bed, kissing and feeling each other, hands brushing over healing wounds and old memories. A bullet wound. A scar on a right eye. They know where to touch and kiss, where a light pressure can make their lover gasp. Anti plants hickeys on his neck, both moving their hips, and Jack holds him with a sigh. He wishes that he could wrap his fingers around the man but the splints don’t let him, so he purses his lips. Anti shushes him, taking care of them, and they moan under their breaths. The green-haired man coats his touch with lubricant before working on him, and they keep kissing. Unhurriedly. It’s him. Only him. Jack craves his caress and warmth, wanting to forget that pain and drown in their ardor. It’s what he knows and have grown to love so deeply. He likes feeling full with Anti, mouth falling open in pleasure when the man penetrates him, and their hearts skip a beat.

 

The freckled man moves them up, so the brown-haired man is sitting on his lap, and Jack cups the back of his head. They barely move, taking it all in, and the Irishman pants into his mouth. Their brush their lips together, legs locked around their waist, and they moan in the dark room. Anti cups the Irishman’s ass cheeks, looking up at him with hazy eyes, and he rides the man with long thrusts. Jack giggles when the hitman tickles him and they fall back onto the mattress, Anti looming over him. He arches his back, waves of pleasure under his skin, and the hitman is still tender in the most possessive way. He growls into Jack’s ear, burying his face in the crook of his neck, and his back dances slowly with his hips. The bed shuffles and they let out hot puffs of air, knitting their eyebrows when getting close. Jack tenses up, toes curling, and he cums with a broken mewl. Anti bumps his nose against his cheek, following his lover and unloading inside of him. They peck their lips, breathing heavy, and their chests move up and down. The Irishman whispers sweet nothings and their embrace is tight, comfortable.

 

They stay tangled in bed, forgetting about the rest, and snow continues to fall all night.

 

* * *

 

 

“When are you going to visit us?”

 

_“Darling, we both know I only come to see you.”_

 

Jack huffs, sitting down on a desk and putting on his gauges. There’s a laptop on his side and Dark’s on screen, wearing a formal white shirt. One button open that shows his neck and a bit of collarbone. What a tease. The Irishman brushes his hair back, getting ready, and Anti’s walking around the house. There are a couple of bags ready by the front door and it’s a new morning, another week. Jack’s pinky and ring finger are still with splints, from his right hand, so as his left thumb, but they’re healing well. The cut on his forehead is cleaner, a light pink mark kissing his skin there, and he’ll need to remove the stitches in a few days. Dark takes a sip from his whiskey, watching him with those brown eyes.

 

 _“Besides, I’m always going there. Perhaps is time for you to visit me instead,”_ the dark-haired man hums. _“After what happened and all… I miss you, dear.”_

 

Jack hums. Maybe. He told him about their incident a couple of days ago, knowing the man is his friend. Anti passes behind the boy and flips the bird for Dark, telling the man to stop flirting with Jack. The Irishman rolls his eyes, holding back a smile.

 

_“I see that he’s still childish. I don’t miss that. Can you come over without him? That would be delightful.”_

 

The brown-haired man chuckles and Anti says that they’re ready to go. They’ll spend a few days in Rome. Maybe New Year’s, who knows. No work. Jack’s excited and he’s been planning their trip for a while now. He’s about to say goodbye to Dark when the man tells him to wait a second. Jack blinks, raising his eyebrows in expectation. The dark-haired man gazes at him, a hint of a smile on his face, and he takes another sip from his drink before speaking.

 

 _“You’ve grown, kid,”_ he says. _“I see it in your eyes. Your fire burns bright every day. You’ve come a long way and that makes me proud.”_

 

The Irishman is aware of Anti standing by the door, waiting patiently, and Dark’s words touch his heart like a light kiss. He grins, eyes turning into half-moons, and he promises to call again soon. The man nods once and they say goodbye, ending the connection and closing the laptop. Jack adjusts his turtleneck, long-sleeved shirt and stands up to meet his lover, helping him with their bags. Anti opens the door for him and, this time, they call a cab to take them to the train station. It’ll take them an hour, maybe two to arrive at Rome and Jack already knows where he wants to go when they get there. The green-haired man holds his hand in the train, both looking outside, and time passes. No one knows them and they can do whatever they want. Jack’s at ease and he gazes at beautiful sights, resting his head on Anti’s shoulder. They’ll be staying at a hotel during their trip and to say that the boy is giddy when they get in a second cab, in Rome, it’s an understatement. Anti snorts, whispering that he looks cute, and Jack stares with wide eyes. He sees the _Colosseum_ from afar and the _Arch of Constantine,_ hitting the hitman’s arm to call his attention and pointing at everything.

 

They never quite left Florence and Jack hopes they can do that more, exploring the world. He never thought he’d see these things. There are so many possibilities. He lets the man do the check-in at the hotel, looking around the lobby while he talks, and their bags are taken to their room. Anti asks if he wants to rest but Jack practically drags him out of the place, wanting to go out. Their breaths form clouds mid-air and there are Christmas decorations almost everywhere. The freckled man follows him and Jack makes them go to the _Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica,_ with something in mind. It definitely wouldn’t be Anti’s first choice to visit but they hold hands while walking in, coats brushing against each other. There are beautiful paintings that belong to important artists but Jack finally finds what he was looking for, both surrounded by Caravaggio’s art. Anti stares at the painting in front of them, both blinking softly, and the Irishman whispers something about that feeling like them. The italian framed art, _Narcissus_ , stands before them.

 

They see the image of a young man, leaning with both hands over the water, as if there’s a pull bringing him down. Something calling for him, so drawn by his own distorted reflection. It’s dark and melancholic. It feels like he can’t never look away, forever staring at such beauty, and they admire with knowing eyes. Jack remembers Felix’s last words and he thinks that the man wasn’t really wrong. They are both Icarus as well. They’re drawn by each other’s light, blindly flapping their wings to get closer and closer. It can be violent but also so delicate.

 

“I seek for you in every face I see,” Jack murmurs, still looking at the painting. “Everywhere.”

 

It feels like that day in the rooftop and Anti looks at him for a long time before opening his mouth to whisper. “Let’s get married.”

 

The brown-haired man blinks and turns his face at him, searching for something in the man’s eyes. Funny. They never really put a name to what they are and the idea of marrying Anti never crossed his mind, but he’s not against it. He just didn’t think the hitman would suggest such a thing, especially right there and then. So out of the blue. Anti seems as surprised as Jack, looking down with a scowl as if trying to figure it out what he just said, and the boy huffs. He doesn’t mind if there are people around and just steps closer to kiss Anti, beards brushing. The green-haired man opens his mouth and Jack hums, sucking on his bottom lip before pulling back. He whispers an obvious answer and that the hitman will have to find someone to make their documents, making him snort. They peck their lips once more before clearing their throats, holding back smiles while staring at the painting. It’s quiet and they take a deep breath, hearts fluttering.

 

Jack knows that they’re partners now. Anti will bring him into that world, teaching him more and sharing missions. Jack’s confident that he’ll do a great job with persuading people, seducing while the freckled man is his sniper on a roof. Ready to take the shot and always looking out for him. He knows that they’ll be a great couple, working together. Not apart. Never apart. They saw their souls and bodies, accepting their perfections and imperfections. Their doubts and mistakes. Their passion and sorrow. Anti is his lover. His mirror. His sun. His everything. It’s like a new beginning.

 

And he can’t wait for them to fly.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t think I would be writing about them in this world again and yet, I’m really happy with how this came out. There are a lot of sentences that I thought about it that will stay with me and I hope it’ll go with you as well. I wanted to show that their relationship is not perfect but they learn from their mistakes and see what’s best for both. That Jack is strong and capable of doing whatever he wants. In the beginning of Narcissus Gaze, we have this desperate, crying man that is so lost… And now we have someone who grew his own wings and has battle scars. Jack will fight for what he loves, but he’ll never lose his innocence and emotions. To me, Anti is also the opposite now. He is more emotional than ever, learning from the boy, and he embraced that “weakness” to the point he’s comfortable with that life. Anti just wants to rest with his lover and he even asks that _one_ question, because why the hell not? It seems only right. He’s tender, soft under that armor. They complete each other and there’s a balance between them. Knowing that they can kill one another and yet they choose not to, is maddening in the sweetest way. I see Jack seducing executives and Anti taking the shot. I see them eventually moving to Sicilia. They will work just fine. I have a lot of thoughts about them and I love them so much. Thank you all so much for being here! For reading, giving me feedback, and loving them too! It truly means a lot and I can’t wait to write more stories. See you next time! :)
> 
> [The painting, Narcissus, by Caravaggio](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/29/Narcissus-Caravaggio_%281594-96%29_edited.jpg)  
> Another inspiring song: [Icarus Interlude by ZAYN](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6zWpkFiYrrI)  
> [My tumblr](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/)  
> [If you like what I do, feel free to show some support!](https://ko-fi.com/sparklepines)  
> 


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